C'est la Vie
by kurosora1984
Summary: The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. AkuRoku for Norikuu.


_**Commentaire de l'Auteur:**_

I am absolutely certain I butchered the French, OK? No need to tell me. I console myself that I probably did OK for someone who has never studied the language in her life, and _literally_ did not know two words of it before now. So, _yay me_. 8I (Also _yay Sara_ and _yay the internet_. You both rock my pants off.) ^_^

And now the _real _news! _**Happy Belated Birthday Norikuu!**_ Yes kids, this is all for her. Hopefully not a disappointment. ^_^ It's also a _**happy end of the first semester **_gift. Hope your Christmas is the best ever, dear! Have fun at _home!_ ^_^

_Désaveux ordinaires._

* * *

"_Monsieur_, a little lonely? Fancy some company, _ce soir_?"

Broad backs walking away and relentless, unhesitating footfalls on the cobbled streets, splashing in the puddles. Tall men in tall hats and warm coats, unaffected by this cold night or the beckoning voices of the _putains_ in _la Rue Saint-Denis._ It was a poor night for business; the few patrons accepting invitations were ill-bred and ill-paying. The women of the street were cold and scorned. And they, in turn, freely scorned the little _prostitué_ who leaned against rough brick, isolated from the others, in a dirty, tattered dress much too large for his skinny little frame.

Three weeks since, Roxas had lost his place at the _Hotel Marginy_. He had done nothing wrong – his crime had been the mistake of attracting two possessive and jealous admirers there. When the men had fallen to dueling over him, the _souteneur_ had thrown out the cause rather than confront the men of power and suffer their anger.

With nowhere to go, the little _prostitué_ had followed the cold streets to the famous _rue_, thinking to find his own clients there. His filmy attire had not lasted long; he had stolen the dress he wore now. There was no money for better clothing. No patrons made such a shocking transaction in sight of the world. No _putains_ shared a sense of sisterhood with the newcomer.

These three weeks…had been hard.

Chances dwindled fast. The longer Roxas went without work, the skinnier and dirtier he became, and the slimmer his chances of attracting any eye at all, let alone a lustful one. After three weeks, soft, fair skin was chapped and grimy, the supple body was bony and bruised, and bright, entrancing eyes were nearly empty of light. Blank, deep blue gazed out over the _rue_ and the men passing by, seeing only the future – bleak, cold, and dwindling fast. Death hovered closer day by day.

"_Bonsoir_."

Roxas blinked. He had not noticed, among the endless sounds of footfalls and horses' hooves and carriage wheels, that one rhythmic march had slowed and stopped nearby. He had not seen the man who looked at him, yet the voice drew his attention. It was too close, too smooth and deep, for him to miss. His eyes focused slowly, head drifting to the side to gaze at the one who addressed him, not believing, not daring to hope…

"It is a cold night to be wearing so little, _chéri_."

A gentleman. Tall, clean, young. _Young?_ A finely-tailored suit under a vast greatcoat. _Roux et vert._ Hair almost too red, too bright against black fabric, black night. Green far too unreal, far too…fixed upon him. _C'est impossible…_

"It is not unbearable, _Monsieur, _if I may have warm arms to hold me." Roxas still couldn't believe this was happening, but he could force a little welcoming allure into his voice, even if his eyes were still blank with amazement.

The man smiled gently; Roxas blinked again with surprise. _Such an expression… _Stepping closer, stepping very close, he spoke, eyes fixed on the _prostitué_.

"Would you accept the offer of my carriage, for now?"

The blond smiled, finally making his face remember the way to invite and entice with a heated gaze. "It would be my greatest _pleasure_ to accept _anything_ from you, _Monsieur_."

Roxas could not help noticing the shocked, furious glares of the _putains_ _de la Rue Saint-Denis_ as the gentleman extended his white-gloved hand, took hold of Roxas' small, dirty fingers, and led him to a fine carriage nearby. It was…gratifying. To be chosen over them – even if this brief use only brought him enough money to extend his life another week, a few short days – Roxas would die with a smile if he could remember these faces in his last moment.

The gentleman followed him into the carriage, calling "_Conduisez à la maison_" to the driver. Roxas looked up, surprised yet again. He had expected the gentleman to draw the curtains over the windows and receive his service right here. That was usual, with patrons who drove carriages. Taking their pleasure _home_ with them…not customary at _all_.

Instead, the man entered the carriage and sat down across from Roxas, still smiling in that strange way. He made no move to close the curtains. The carriage started clattering forward. He made no move to touch Roxas or lift his skirts. His smile remained kind, his eyes clear of the usual intent, yet softened with…something else. Some feeling Roxas had never seen before.

"What is your name, _chéri_?"

Hands twisted briefly in his lap, tugging on tatters of cloth. "Roxas, _Monsieur._"

"Roxas." The smile broadened, touching green warmly. "You are honoring me by being most obliging tonight. _Merci_."

"_Je vous en prie_." A blond head inclined slightly. Unsure what else to do, the _prostitué_ held silent. The gentleman's actions and manner were unsettling him – he did not know if he should rise and initiate their tryst, or wait until his patron began to seduce _him_. Usually it was so easy to read what men wanted…if they even waited to make one guess. This politeness, this _destination_…it all made no sense.

"You may call me Axel, _chéri_."

_His given name alone?_ Not daring to use the name, the _prostitué _nodded, hands twisting harder in the tatters of his skirt. After a silent pause, the gentleman – Axel – moved. Roxas glanced up to see him removing his greatcoat. _Ah, finally…_ He relaxed a moment, glad that the man had decided to cease this strange behavior and take his pleasure.

Axel moved across the space, and Roxas froze. Rather than the touch he expected, he felt warm, heavy fabric covering his bare arms and shoulders, settling over his whole body as Axel draped the coat over him. Then, when it was in place, the man…sat back down across from Roxas.

Wrapped warmly in the huge coat, the _prostitué_ struggled to comprehend this gesture. It escaped him, and in the end, he only managed a shy, quiet, "_Merci_."

It felt like a very long drive to Roxas.

~o~

"Come with me."

Dirty hand again held gently in pristine white gloves, Roxas followed his patron into a house so large it defied his imagination. Large and wealthy and beautiful and clean and…empty, except for servants, as far as Roxas could see. A small part of his mind wondered about this gentleman – his true status, his family…his reason for driving into _la Rue Saint-Denis_, his reason for choosing Roxas to comfort his bed tonight. He wondered, but he also knew it was not his place to ask. Rather, it was his place to please the man who bought him, and then to go back to his street corner, where he belonged. He was not fool enough to even begin to dream of anything else.

They ascended a broad staircase, Roxas grabbing at his skirts with his free hand to keep himself from tripping over the ragged hem of the too-large dress. A large hall opened before him, his wide blue eyes silently taking in paintings, carpet, vases perched on ornately-carved columns. It was impossible to take in everything around him. He could only stare and follow, follow the man who led him to a door. _A bedroom? _Not since the _Marginy _had he seen such a thing… Could it be that Axel intended to take him in such a room, as if he were a lover?

The door opened, not to a bedroom, but to a shining room that simply made no sense to Roxas.

"Here, Roxas…here is Annabelle. She will help you bathe and dress, and I will see you again shortly."

Unsure what was happening, the _prostitué _was released into the care of a quiet, efficient maid. Panic at being undressed unexpectedly was soon replaced with startled bliss as Roxas was gently forced into the bathtub and all but submerged in hot, fragrant water. _So this is a bath…_ He sighed, utterly uncaring what the maid did now, allowing her to scrub at his hair with strong, careful hands. _This must be like Heaven…I see. He is…discriminating. He brought me here because I am too dirty for his liking. Although…does he not know that there are cleaner boys at the Marginy?_

Roxas had no answer for his own musings, and Annabelle – who had left him alone for a few minutes after washing his hair – was now back…with new clothing.

The little street _prostitué_ was dressed in fitted trousers and a loose shirt, soft and fine beyond even what the _Marginy_ had provided for their best boys. Roxas had never touched anything so sleek and perfect in his life, and now he was surrounded in it, his body hugged by smooth fabric, his skin clean and – unbelievably – warm.

Now it was Annabelle he followed to a new wing, a new hall and new room – a parlor. A softly-lit room with a fireplace. Large, cushioned chairs. His eyes widened at the sight of food – a feast, by his standards. And there, too, was the master of the house, smiling at Roxas and rising to meet him.

"Roxas, welcome. Would you join me for a little supper?"

"I…I…" _Why? All this…why?_

But Axel was already guiding him forward, seating them across from each other. "I hope the clothing is comfortable…"

"I…yes. It's…wonderful."

Again, that warm, gentle smile. "I'm glad."

The food was beyond delicious…and Roxas was far beyond famished. He had been half starved to death, his bony frame evidence of how sickly thin he had become. The food could have been terrible and he would have eaten until he could eat no more. His life depended on it.

When he had eaten his fill, Roxas finally began to wonder at his situation again. Such generosity truly had no reason that he could see. The clothing and bath could be intended to make him better suit Axel's preferences, but the food? _Well…I must give him exceptional service in exchange._

"Was the dinner to your liking, Roxas?" The gentle voice spoke again. Axel had not eaten much of the dinner, but had spent the time mostly watching and smiling upon his guest.

Smiling in return, Roxas rose to approach his seated patron. "I enjoyed it _greatly._ And now, perhaps you would like to enjoy something as well?" He was slipping closer, hands ghosting over broad shoulders as he moved to straddle Axel's lap.

But the gentleman put his hands up, attempting to gently deter the _prostitué._ "Do not concern yourself with me, I am quite content, I assure you. We should retire for the night; you need to rest…"

A slight frown of confusion finally showed through Roxas' guarded face. "Will you not let me thank you first? I should express my gratitude…" Leaning forward, he was stopped before he could bring his face too close to Axel's.

"Roxas." Axel was gentle but firm. "I do not want you to do anything like that." Slightly stung, the blond frowned again. Axel softened kindly, trying to ease the hurt that Roxas himself couldn't understand. "I have not brought you here to use you for that. Please, do not think of serving me. Think of eating well and sleeping well and being warm and dry and happy."

Struggling to understand, Roxas questioned, "You cannot mean you want to…_keep_ me?"

A renewed smile, and a warm hand placed against his cheek. "If you will stay, I will be happy."

_But…_ "_Monsieur_, no gentleman takes his mistress or his kept boy from the streets, it is _inconnu_."

Rising, the man shook his head. "_Axel_, Roxas. My name is Axel. And I am not concerned with what is done or what is not." Then, gently, he bent over the boy and placed a soft kiss on Roxas' forehead. Voice low, he finished, "Come. It is time to sleep."

Again, Roxas could only follow. And again, what waited for him was an even greater surprise. For Axel led the _prostitué_ to his own bedroom, a luxurious room with the largest bed Roxas had ever seen. There, the blond thought for a moment that the man had changed his mind, for Axel proceeded to gently undress him, lifting the shirt free and slipping his trousers down as Roxas submitted to the touches, waiting for more. More, however, didn't come. Axel instead brought out a nightgown, slipped it over the tousled blond hair, and, having clothed Roxas again, turned to his own garments and was soon changed into nightclothes as well.

To complete Roxas' confusion, Axel then took the boy to his own bed with him. He lay down beside Roxas and wrapped warm arms around the bony body. _Ah. Now, finally…_ But Roxas was wrong again. Rather than those large hands beginning to move, roaming downward…a sweet kiss was placed against his temple, accompanied by a deep murmur.

"_Bonne nuit_, Roxas."

~o~

It was the beginning of a new and thoroughly incomprehensible life for the little _prostitué_. The gentleman called Axel kept him in his home, dressed him in clothing fit for nobility, and shared his meals and his bed with the boy. He was gentle and kind, and he never sought to use the street boy to satisfy his lust. As far as Roxas could tell, the man didn't seem to _have_ a libido. At least, he saw none of the usual evidence of it – no hands invading his pants, no greedy, swallowing mouth attacking his neck. He was never dragged into an empty room and thrown against a wall and ravished. Never told to give Axel pleasure with his mouth. All these things would have meant desire to him, and he saw no evidence of passion where such actions were lacking.

If there were other, subtler hints, he did not see them. Not at first.

For three weeks Roxas struggled to understand his new life. He gained weight and health, his skin began to soften again, his hair was always clean, and he could not understand any of it. He had heard talk among the _putains_, dreams of being taken in as a mistress by some wealthy man, perhaps an old merchant with an ancient, dried-up wife. A few years of comfort while such a man fed them and bedded them – such were the wildest dreams of the _putains_. Roxas could have understood his life now as something beyond even those dreams, if only Axel had demanded his body in return for the care. This platonic generosity baffled him. For three weeks, the boy could only conclude that Axel was an _excentrique_, and had chosen to become Roxas' benefactor for some reason beyond the grasp of a sane person.

Comforted by that conclusion, the _prostitué_ was able to accept the offered kindness, believing that the madman would tire of him soon enough anyway. He certainly could not maintain lasting interest in a little street boy whose body he never used.

In the fourth week, Roxas began to notice things he had not seen before. Tiny indications that he may have been mistaken in his conclusions.

Green eyes often watched him when they were together, and those gazes were usually merely soft and kind. There were moments, however, when Roxas would look up to find a strange intensity in that stare. At first, he only worried that Axel was angry at him. The streets had accustomed him to both anger and raw lust; Axel's stare was neither, but Roxas was more inclined to worry that his benefactor was angry. It took him two weeks to begin to wonder if it was closer to desire, instead.

The kisses eventually began to make Roxas wonder, as well. Axel kissed him at least once every day, always sweetly and innocently. His forehead, his cheek, temple, the backs of his fingers, the tip of his nose, occasionally. Never his lips or neck or any other part of his body. And again, it wasn't until the fourth or fifth week that Roxas began to notice the ever-so-slight lingering when Axel's lips touched him.

The coarse-mannered poor did not bother to refine their expressions, and Roxas knew nothing but blatant, forward speech, thoughts, manners, and intentions. Until now. Now, living always with a man who was among the _crème de la crème_ of society, Roxas was becoming sensible to the reserved and understated nuances of his host's conversation and expression. By his sixth week in the mansion, Roxas was certain that his benefactor had some sort of strange fascination with him – he just didn't know what it _was_.

"Axel?" The man looked up from the leather-bound volume he read by lamplight in the parlor this evening, smiling at Roxas.

"Yes, Roxas?"

Suddenly bashful, Roxas flushed a bit. "I…that is…have you often brought boys from the street to come live with you, in the past?"

Blinking, Axel lowered his book. "No, never before. You are the only one. Why do you ask, _chéri_?"

"I…" Roxas glanced down. "I merely wondered…why I am here. With you. What use am I, to you?"

"Oh, Roxas," the man sighed, "Are you still thinking of such things? Haven't I told you to forget those ideas? You owe me nothing."

"But I don't understand!" Blue eyes finally dared to look up, only to search gentle green. "Why? Why did you choose me?"

For a long moment, Axel was silent, gazing at him, seemingly lost in deep thought. When Roxas began to fear that he would not answer, the gentleman finally spoke.

"I cannot explain it to you yet. But know, at least, that you are the only one, and I could never have chosen another."

That cryptic answer was all Axel would give that night, and it left Roxas to ponder a deep, unsolvable question.

_Does he want me, then? Does he not want me? He never seems to desire me… Yet if he chose me so specially…could it be that he truly wants me after all? _Though he could not decide one way or the other, Roxas began to wish for something – the first wish he had dared to have in his life.

_I hope he does…_

~o~

In the seventh week, Roxas still could not be sure, and he dared not press Axel for answers. But the glances, stares, and innocent kisses persisted, and in the eighth week, the blond began to wonder if they could mean something. Something, perhaps, that had to do with his question – _Does he want me or not?_

The ninth week came, and uncertainty was becoming torturous, especially at night, wrapped in warm arms, listening to Axel's slow, even breathing. When soft lips lingered on some familiar spot of skin, sometimes Roxas would feel almost certain for that brief moment that it was true, Axel _must_ want him! Then the kiss would end, and he would remember how his advances had been rejected when he first came, and how Axel had never touched him erotically since then. Remembering these inescapable facts, Roxas' face would fall, certain again that it _couldn't_ be true.

Through his tenth and eleventh weeks with Axel, Roxas began to _suppose_. He had never thought hypothetically before and didn't know what the word meant anyway, but he couldn't bear to dwell on his own conviction that Axel didn't want him…and so he began think: _Suppose he does want me. If he did…what would this kiss mean? If he did want me – which he doesn't – but if he __**did**__, what would he be feeling right now? Why does he linger so close to me? What thoughts does he think when he looks at me?_

And, in true hypothetical fashion, Roxas began to make guesses as to the answers. At first, he only imagined that those long looks might be some sort of desire after all…but slowly, he began to imagine more. More than desire, perhaps…

In the twelfth week, Roxas began to forget to remind himself that it was all just fantasy anyway. Instead, he would stare at Axel when the man was reading or eating or sleeping, and when he caught Axel staring at him, he would search those intense green eyes as deeply as he could before the look slipped away again. When Axel kissed him, he would lean into the touch and strain his senses, seeking to feel every faint bit of pressure in that moment. And at night, he would watch the man sleep, and imagine what might happen between them if Axel wanted him. How beautiful, how perfect his embrace would be… Roxas was curious. How would Axel hold him? Would it remind him of the men at the _Marginy_? Or would it be somehow far more passionate and pleasurable than anything he had ever known?

He wanted to _know_. Roxas…wanted Axel to desire him. Wanted Axel to hold him. Wanted it more than anything.

~o~

A group of gentlemen had come, gathering in Axel's billiard room with cigars and port and loud, boisterous laughter and conversation. Roxas had been surprised by the intrusion when Axel came home, and dared not appear before the group. In thirteen weeks at this house – not that he'd been counting – Axel had never had these guests here before. He had been absent, however, at least one evening every week, and Roxas had never enjoyed those evenings. Axel had apologized and explained that he had to put in an appearance at these parties and gatherings within his social circle. Now, apparently, it was his turn to play host to some of these men.

The scent of cigars and strange men was heavy even out in the hall. Roxas could hear the laughter and the clack of billiards. If he listened, he could pick Axel's voice from among them, and the sound, as always these days, made something in his chest twist a little. Yearning. However, he was too afraid of the crowd of men to seek his benefactor tonight, and so Roxas decided to just slip quietly past the room and down the hall to their usual parlor, hoping that Axel would come to him when his guests had gone.

He had not been settled a quarter of an hour in the parlor, curled up in Axel's usual chair by the fire, when the boy heard the door open. Looking up, he smiled hopefully, thinking to see Axel.

A strange man stood there – a man Roxas recognized more by his leer than his face, though he couldn't remember where he knew the silver-haired gentleman from.

"Well," an oily, repulsive voice reached him as the man stepped into the room, shutting the door behind himself. "I thought I saw a familiar figure in the hall. Who would have supposed I'd find you here, after so many months?"

Sinking defensively back into soft, Axel-scented red velvet, Roxas eyed the intruder, worried. "Have we met, _Monsieur_?" His nerves were tingling a loud warning, and Roxas was already considering bolting…but the man was between him and the door…

"Why, how cold! _Je suis triste_, little pet. How could you forget me, after all the attention I gave you at the _Marginy_, after I've missed you these past months…or missed your tight little hole, that is." The leer had stretched to a wolfish grin, and the man was still coming forward, close…far too close.

With a shudder, Roxas remembered why this face was familiar – it was one of the two men who had fought over him and caused him to be cast into the streets. _No…_

Not bothering to reply, Roxas jumped, trying to run. However, the man was too fast and already too close, and before Roxas could escape, a painfully crushing grasp had wrenched him back by the arm and thrown him down again, pinning him quickly and mercilessly to Axel's chair.

"No, please…! _M'aider_, Axel! _No_…!" The brief, frantic scream was cut off almost at once by a huge hand, and in a moment, Roxas could not even breathe, let alone scream. He thrashed and tried to throw himself free, but his attacker was much larger and far stronger, and Roxas could barely move.

The door did not burst open, Axel did not come racing in, and another large hand clamped down around his throat, squeezing like a vise, beginning to suffocate Roxas as the now-unnecessary hand over his moth moved down, grabbing the crotch of his pants and kneading harshly.

Horrified, repulsed, Roxas writhed, trying to free himself from the sickening touch, the hand that was rapidly tearing apart the fastenings on his clothing to grasp at skin directly. However, the hand on his throat made it nearly impossible to think of anything else – it took all Roxas' effort to draw even the tiniest bit of air into his lungs, and even with that, his body was weakening and his vision darkening as his consciousness slipped. His awareness was nearly gone already. Time seemed to drag endlessly – had it been only a moment, or hours? _Axel…sauver-moi…_ If he could have drawn breath, it would have been released in a sob. Tear-filled eyes strained to focus on the door, but Roxas couldn't see if anyone was coming to help him. _Axel…mon propre…_

Vaguely, he felt a hot tongue slide up the side of his face, making him shudder with disgust. A deep, breathless voice growled in his ear, "I'm going to violate you now, _esclave_." Then there was pressure…a digging push against the place no one had touched since a perfect, kind, wonderful gentleman had found him, the little _prostitué_, and taken him from the streets…

_Je…l'aime…_

"_Ordure! Va a enfer, fils de pute!_ And get your filthy hands off him!" The sudden yelling reached Roxas' ears as if from far, far away, accompanied by loud crashing sounds and then a sudden release of the squeezing pressure around his neck as the invasive touches vanished. Immediately, Roxas was gasping for breath, choking and retching as he struggled to recover, his body curling inward reflexively, hiding from the violence that he couldn't understand yet.

When he could breathe again, the first thing Roxas knew was a gentle touch on his face, on his neck, examining him as a tender voice asked, "Are you all right, Roxas?"

Worried green eyes. A familiar scent. _Axel_.

With a shudder, the tears overflowed as Roxas clung to the man, sobbing against the black shoulder of his jacket.

"_Je me demande pardon_, Roxas. I took too long to find you. Forgive me, _s'il vous plaît_."

Hands brushed soothingly through his hair, cradling him as Axel murmured apologies, and Roxas could only shake his head against the warm shoulder, not daring to try to speak…and suddenly too afraid to draw back and look up as his benefactor. _He saw…he saw me like this. How can he still keep me after seeing my shameful side?_ Roxas barely heard his attacker rise from the floor, or the brief exchange that followed.

"So, this is your little _noblesse oblige_, Axel? I must say, if you tire of providing charity, I will gladly take over his care for you…"

Hard green eyes glared at the other man, Axel's arms still around Roxas. "Get out of my house, Xemnas. Count yourself fortunate to escape with your life after touching him."

"More than a _protégé_, then? How interesting…"

Axel growled at the lecherous light in the other man's eyes. "Out. Now. And take the others with you, or I will make sure you regret this evening."

Faltering, the gentleman backed away a little. "Shall I explain that you put these marks on my face, and are now canceling our game for the sake of your little whore?"

Ice cold, Axel spoke just above a whisper. "My nephew is suddenly ill, and you walked into a wall like a drunk, clumsy ass. Give them that reason, and get the hell out."

Sneering, the intruder finally gave in and left, freeing Axel to return his attention to Roxas.

The blond was struggling to bring his sobs under control. _It's all right…he didn't do it. He's gone, and I must calm down, I must not disgrace myself even more… Axel. Oh, Axel…he will never want me now. Not a thing like me…_ Roxas drew deep, shuddering breaths, raising his hands to rub his eyes dry, only to feel another touch replace his as Axel carefully brushed away the tears instead. Looking up, Roxas found himself staring into green, into eyes that hurt with him and for him, even as that mysterious intensity filled them again.

_How can you tolerate me?_ "I'm sorry…I'm sorry. It's disgusting…you must…hate me now…"

"No," Axel shook his head, pulling Roxas closer. "I can never hate you, don't you see that yet?"

_Oh, don't give me such hopes…_ "But there is no reason for you to like me…you cannot want me. I'm only a burden."

He felt a warm forehead pressed against his, Axel's voice so, so close. "You are no such thing. You are my delight."

_Impossible…_ "Then…do you want me?" Blue eyes searched the ever-puzzling greens once again. "You…have you any desire for me at all?"

Axel's hands and arms around him began to shake, green eyes burning with silent intensity as the man's jaw worked. He seemed tortured with the desire to speak, yet held back. A strangled whisper escaped him at length. "Don't…"

_Axel. Axel. Je te desire._ Roxas swallowed. Against all wisdom, whispered, "I want you." He simply couldn't contain the words anymore.

A sharp intake of breath from the other man. A flicker of stunned disbelief in green eyes, and maybe just a little of…hope. The deep voice was still hoarse and throaty. "You…you don't have to say that, Roxas. You will never lose your place here; do not try to offer me anything because you think it is what I want from you…"

"No, Axel, _tu as tort_…" Momentarily confused by the man's logic, Roxas frowned, searching the handsome face as he tried to explain. "I am…that is, it is only the truth…I…I feel I must tell you. Even if you reject me again, I can't bear it anymore…"

Suddenly, his words were cut off. His lips were closed by a warm mouth pressed over them. Roxas blinked. Axel…Axel was kissing him. Firmly. Before Roxas could even process this, or understand the dizzying leap of his heart, a large hand had slipped behind his neck, pulling him in as the man moved against his lips.

Roxas gasped, and Axel didn't miss the momentary parting of lips. He pushed in, deepening the kiss swiftly and smoothly, and Roxas forgot to think or wonder. He just reacted. Instinctively, he responded to the passionate kiss, his eyes slipping closed in bliss as the blond gave in to the intensity, letting it sweep him away. Time lost all meaning as Roxas burned and melted with desire and happiness and pleasure in Axel's arms.

They parted, both gasping, both transfixed by the other's face, and Roxas saw plainly, now, the answer to his question. "Axel…you…you _do_ want me?" He could barely keep from crying again with joy, knowing already that it was true.

"Yes," the beautiful voice was still strained, struggling not to break as Axel confessed the words he had been holding back. "I have wanted you so desperately all this time… But I wanted you to respond to me with your own desires, your own feelings, not to repay me or seek to please me. Because… Oh, Roxas, I love you. I've fallen so deeply in love with you, _chéri_, I cannot bear it."

_Ah…je compris…this is why…_ "I understand, Axel. I think…I am also in love with you." And Roxas completely lost himself in Axel's answering kiss, drowning in passion unlike anything he had ever experienced and hungering for more. He had never known desire like this.

"Please…" He was panting when they parted again, clutching Axel's face with trembling hands. "Show me love. Axel…show me…I've never felt it before. Let me feel it…with you."

Axel swallowed hard, staring, then touched Roxas' lips softly. Searching blue eyes with the most penetrating stare yet, his steady voice answered, "I will. I will give you everything. But you must promise me, right now, that you will forget every other man who has ever touched you. Forget them, and do not think of any other embraces, do not remember any other hands but mine. Do now know any other kisses. Promise me I will be the only man you think of." His voice was softer now, begging. "Promise, and I will believe you…"

Slightly horrified as he understood Axel's fear, Roxas leaned forward, quickly kissing his lover. "_Je promets_, Axel. I promise, I swear it. I already forgot them long ago. I _cannot_ think of anyone but you."

~o~

They had been together in this very bed for so many nights now, warm and close under silvery moonlight or burnished lamplight. Yet those nights, those touches, and that warmth were not like this – not even close. This warmth was _hot_, this embrace was passionate, and this night was not broken with questions or fears, but was filled with answers and love and completion.

Axel claimed Roxas' lips again and again, and Roxas gave them, happy to surrender his mouth to his lover. They undressed one another slowly, adoring every inch of revealed skin with kisses and tender caresses. With every touch, Roxas was flooded with strange and wonderful feelings, and felt sure each time, _Ah, __c'est ça l'amour__. This is what his love feels like. _And then Axel would kiss him again, hold him closer, and Roxas would sigh. _No, __**this**__ is love. Or perhaps this…does it ever end? Mon dieu, I do not know if I can bear this bliss… How much more before I die of it?_

But he did not die; every moment Roxas felt more and more alive. Alive into the depths of his heart, where he had never throbbed with real life before.

He only had to beg for a moment – as soon as he requested it, Axel stopped preparing his body and drew close again, covering him from head to toe with the heat they shared. His lover's voice was low and soothing, speaking words of love and worship, words Roxas had never heard or dreamed of hearing in his life. And with whispers of his own, he struggled to convey to his lover all the powerful and wordless feelings churning within him.

They sat together on the bed, and Roxas lowered himself gently onto Axel's lap, eyes shining and locked with Axel's. And, when they came together, the pain and the pleasure were altogether new to Roxas, because it was _Axel_. His promise was so, so easy to keep. Nothing could compare to being one with Axel, so nothing could intrude on the pleasure they shared.

He moved, and moved again, and Axel's obvious pleasure doubled and tripled his own, until they were both rapidly losing themselves in each other, in passion, falling to pieces and becoming truly whole for the first time, together.

Roxas led their lovemaking until his body fell, too exhausted to continue. Then, Axel lowered him gently to his back, and Roxas weakly opened himself again, trusting his body and soul to his lover as they neared completion. And when it came, when they reached the peak of ecstasy together, Roxas was crying out his lover's name, and his heart was screaming, _C'est l'amour, c'est l'amour, Axel, Axel… __Je t'aime, Axel!_

They lay together at last, spent, smiling, and completely filled. Axel held him close, staring at him, and Roxas knew now what that gaze meant, and he knew that he loved it. He loved this man more than anything. He understood, now.

"Roxas, _je t'aime_. _Maintenant et toujours_."

The words were low and infinitely tender, and Roxas cherished the priceless sound of Axel's voice speaking them.

"I love you, Roxas. I am so deeply in love with you, _mon chéri._"

"_Oui. __Pour toujours_, Axel. I _do_ love you. I will be yours forever."

"As I am yours, _mon bel amant_." His smile was warm, touched with playfulness as the man lightly poked the tip of Roxas' nose.

"Yes."

~o~

_Fin._

~o~

**Note to readers!** Hey guys! If you read this because you're into Axel and Roxas and that's pretty much it, well...thanks! I hope you liked it! :D But if you _also_ wonder if this Kurosora1984 lady has anything else to entertain you, and if you are even a little interested in _other_ guys getting their sexy romance on, check out my current original story on FP! Links in my profile! Thank you, dears! :D


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